DungeonWorld

As soon as you headed through the portal the Fey creature had her elementals destroy the portal.

YAY ! No way back ! You have had your Dungeon World Chance… next stop is Premadeath and a trip to the Fugue plane.

Better not die Faithless.

When mortals die, their souls are drawn to the Fugue Plane. The vast majority of this plane is flat, gray, bland, and nondescript, with no notable topographical features.

Fugue Plane Traits
The Fugue Plane has the following traits.

Static: The static nature of the plane allows the devils to torment the petitioners without ever ending their suffering.

Impeded magic: All spells are impeded.

Fugue Plane Links

Souls naturally travel from the Material Plane to the Fugue Plane at death, but they cannot leave of their own volition. Divine servants can travel here from the realms of their deities and bring souls back with them, as long as those souls properly belong to the deities they serve.

Fugue Plane Inhabitants

The Fugue Plane’s only inhabitants are the souls of the dead awaiting transport to the planes of their deities.

The souls of the Faithless form a living wall around the City of Judgment, while the souls of the False are sentenced to servitude within the city, where they are sometimes tortured by devils.

Fugue Plane Petitioners: The False are the inhabitants of the Fugue Plane, since they are its only permanent residents (except the Faithless, who are doomed to be dissolved into the substance of the plane).

Features Of The Fugue Plane

The only feature of this generally featureless plane is the Crystal Spire, the shared realm of Kelemvor and Jergal, which stands in the middle of the City of Judgment. The City is a gray, bland, tightly packed metropolis populated by the judged dead.

Jergal/Kelemvor: The Crystal Spire is a glittering tower of transparent rock. When Cyric was god of the dead, this tower was called the Bone Castle, but Kelemvor transformed it as a symbol of his commitment to open and fair judgment of the dead.

The last thing that went through Bobs mind was a blade of magical force steel..

Next thing he was aware of was a shape…

It was about six inches high. It wore a black robe. It held a small scythe in one skeletal paw. A bone-white nose with brittle grey whiskers protruded from the shadowy hood.

Bob did not seem very pleased to see him.

‘Squeak? Squeak?’

SQUEAK, the Death of Rats explained.

‘Squeak?’

SQUEAK, the Death of Rats confirmed.

‘[Preen whiskers] [twitch nose]?’

The Death of Rats shook its head.

SQUEAK.

Bob was crestfallen. The Death of Rats laid a bony but not entirely unkind paw on its shoulder.

SQUEAK.

Bob nodded sadly. It had been a good life in the Trog tunnels. But then meeting the non smelly men opened up a whole new world of terror filled ant fights and massive feeds of roasted beef and ant meat.
Bob shrugged, and trooped after the small robed figure.
It wasn’t as if he had any choice.

After a full day of making hats Agmargus twists his ring and heads into the bottle to
check up on his companions…
The main room is cluttered with benches , tables ( the main big table is broken up into 18 large bits and is in the room, tools, nest bases and wood.
Bob is chained to a stair and hisses angrily- he is very hungry and thirsty, having eaten all the nearby roast minotaur meat and drunk all his water. He strains to reach more food … but it is out of reach. The room reeks of rat shit , sickness and sweat…

Sarjin snores loudly from his nest of reeking blankets and Mark lies in the recovery position under bits of warming material pulled from couches … he looks a bit grey and his lips are a bit dry…
His breathing is a bit spasmodic too… Agmargus shrugs and guesses they just over worked themselves before twisting his ring and going back to his designing…

Bob the rat wonders the Gnomish academy for 10 long hours… hungry and alone…
He chews some wood in the workshop and licks his bowls…
Where are his masters…he thinks, growing more impatient and savage by the hour…

Mark sneaker gets into the book of facts and starts looking up how to activate his special ring…
Before long he is shouting the rings History out to you all excitedlyDIDYOUKNOWTHISRINGUSED TO BELONG TO AN ELVINPALADIN !!!!

He was woken by orc shouting yelling – guttural barking and clanging.. then came the oily fatty black smoke. Then clomping and hushed talking in Draconic " Lets get out of here , and some big voice saying " Im taking this guys whole body to the secret passage " A bit of clanging and scraping … then silence … some time later the portcullis rumbles up … now might be the time to check my jumping skills … as some one hurries along the walkway… An orc by the sound of it ..

After about six hour of hiding in the crevice safe from everything except starvation, Sarjin sees the fire drakes fly down to the two dead orcs and start eating and down stop eating and burning until there is not a scrap left. Then they fly about to a mound of stalagmites a short distance from the tower and begin playing with some sort of bag they seemed to have sniffed out from their hiding place. They play with it in a cat like fashion until is is torn to bits, strewn about and partially on fire. You think you see them eat some of the things in the bag too.

After almost half a day of hiding in a crevice Sarjin hears a ruckus and straining his eyes, sees silhouetted against the backdrop of the annoyed Firedrakes blasting flames , some sort of orc warband of 30 or so ragged looking half starved orcs heading from the back caves of the cavern and marching in a ragged formation. They wear rotted hides and wield bone clubs or the occasional rusty spear or have the odd mushroom stalk shield or obsidian dagger. A number of them hold a banner and they shout and make maneuvers in a challenging manner. Scaring off any attacks by the fire drakes and causing the drakes to fly about in an annoyed fashion.
The orcs seem to stumble upon the remains of what ever it was that the Drakes were fighting over and playing with and alot of shouting shoving and pointing ensues. One orc louder than the rest seems to calm the fighting and an agreement of some sort is made. 20 or so of the orcs march right out of the cavern to the staircase and head downwards. Twelve remain, setting up camp in the area the last orcs were at, in front of the tower.

Dude write a book you are an amazing writer!

Morale was climbing for the little group after their latest success. It was almost as if each step forward, further buoyed their optimism for survival.
They continued their journey up the endless staircase with light banter and growing enthusiasm. An unusual sense of warmth however, was beginning to pervade Sarjin’s body. The feeling was not something natural to him and it worried him. Sarjin knew that familiarity, understanding and control was essential to survival in any dangerous environment and although he had experienced glimmerings of this feeling from time to time, it was alien enough to concern him…It was the feeling of hope…

Eventually they came across a massive stone entrance. On further inspection, Boldarian noticed some dwarven scriptures….maybe this was what they had all been looking for… a safe haven, a reprieve; somewhere to rest and eat good food, to find equipment…. and weapons.

Boldarian worked out it was some kind of riddle and with Jurlue they made short work of it, they had opened the portal. Sarjin and the others moved boldly forward, little knowing what lay ahead. They soon realised they had not found sanctuary however, they had found an ancient tomb full of riddles and death. One of them had entered and would never leave, would never again grace the lands of the living.

The following days would live to haunt the survivors and to this day, for Sarjin,
it had become a blur of wrestling mechanical titans, dodging fireballs and running in fear from wave after wave of voracious spiders. It felt as if the minute they’d outfoxed something and a reprieve was in order, the tomb would become even more bent on their destruction. If it couldn’t claim more victims through out and out brute force then it would gain its victims through deception and downright skulduggery.

Sarjin was a mess of burnt flesh and bloody wounds. His breathing came in gasps and life expectancy was short. Light was foreign to this place and Boldarian, although in much better shape physically, also wore despondency like a cloak. Things looked bad. Only Jurlue, who had zero dark vision, and had to be lead around like a blind man, seemed somewhat at ease, although he was also certainly nonplussed about their current predicament. He didn’t want to be there either but one time in a rare moment of openness he whispered to Sarjin that he could just vaporise and leave at any time should things get too grim. Sarjin was awed and fascinated by the idea and although he couldn’t escape by that same means, maybe his companion’s skill could assist them all somehow.

Finally a moment’s respite. They had all combined desperately but magnificently to rid themselves of the deadly Naga beast which had plagued them time after time. Searching the area thoroughly, they discovered a coffin and out of desperation they forced the lid open in the hopes of finding something to assist their plight.

What happened over the next few moments would be etched into the brains of those who survived it for the remainder of their days…Slowly they pried open the lid and stared down into the depths. It appeared to be a half elf corpse wearing a silver necklace. It didn’t make sense though, because neither the necklace nor the occupant matched the depiction on the lid. In hindsight it was obvious that this tomb had already been disturbed and that the dangers of what we were about to let pass were staring at us in our faces and yet we stood back and let it happen…
In an attempt to assist us all, Boldarian removed the necklace and put it on. It was a desperate and dangerous decision and it was the last one he would make. The necklace tightened…and tightened…there was nothing we could do…
Boldarian, our friend and companion grew weaker and weaker, fading before our eyes. It did something to us to watch it happen, feeling so utterly helpless but finally Boldarian, cradled in Jurlue’s arms, stopped struggling. He left to meet his maker.

Desolate and numb with grief the two adventurers plodded off towards the exit. Without much talk they began a slow and thorough search of the rooms they had cleared. One room was lit by braziers of what appeared to be magical light. This was a room of power and they both noticed an unusual carpet strewn across the floor. On closer inspection by Jurlue, it appeared that something was very wrong with it. It seemed like something or someone was trapped within its folds!
After much thought and debate a method was devised and a plan was hatched.

Sarjin watched warily as Jurlue stepped in. He was worried and apprehensive but it seemed Jurlue had snagged their target. He grabbed Jurlue’s legs and pulled with all his might.

A lean, black and crumpled figure with an unusual hat carrying some kind of sack was writhing around on the floor cursing and yelling. Jurlue and Sarjin stood back and stared.

The young Drow Mage seemed to come back to himself and look around. On observing us he quickly rummaged through his sack and handed us both eccentric but sturdy and well made hats as gifts of gratitude and friendship. We had saved him from goodness knew how many years of imprisonment within the carpet and he was eternally grateful.

Sarjin loved his new hat. It had two beautiful feathers coming from it. He placed it on his head and peered at the gangly Drow. This one he would look after very carefully… friends it seemed, were too hard to lose and he would earn these feathers in his cap.

Jurlue smells a smell and looks about … turning to Sarjin he says “can you smell that? The sweet and sour smell of Dragon drifting on the subtle currents of the cavern…”
Deep within the reptilian part of Sarjins brain stirs a tiny flash of recognition… and a the cold sweat of trespass and danger forms on his back…

Jurlue starts thinking that this place is TOODANGEROUS! And that we should keep going up the stairs until we find a town…

It was a new feeling for Sarjin but he was beginning to enjoy the company of his small but robust companion. Up until this time he had never particularly adventured with or relied on others… things were beginning to change.

They poked their way around somewhat making mischief and then returned to the altar room with the stone slabs. That halfling which was lifeless earlier, looked somewhat more alive than before and certainly much dirtier! Boldarian rushed over and they greeted like long lost friends.
‘And then there were three,’ thought Sarjin.

It was at this point that the real adventure truly began. After introductions to the halfling whose name was Jurlue, the trio headed off with hopes somewhat higher than upon initially awakening on their respective stone slabs.

As they ventured forth, Sarjin pondered his two new companions, wondering in particular what this new halfling would bring to their little group. Jurlue certainly had a way about him but Sarjin felt it harder to perceive what this fellow was made of. He wasn’t as open and friendly as Boldarian and at the best of times Sarjin wasn’t one for blind trust. It wasn’t long though before Jurlue’s skills and value became obvious…
As they travelled up a bone staircase which seemed to go on forever, a strange red sphere with a wicked cackling sound coming from it flew towards them at a fearful pace.
‘What was that?!’ thought Sarjin. He had no idea what to do or how to tackle this sudden predicament but readied himself in the middle of the staircase come what may. Just up ahead, Boldarian was doing the same while Jurlue was returning in a rush from scouting ahead, closely followed by the orb.

Sarjin, mentally reeling at their plight was then shocked when Jurlue somehow altered himself and lifted off into the air at their combatant, blinking out of sight at the same time! He saw that the orb was inhabited by a wiry old witch lady who sent a ruby bolt flying outwards. The orb however, was suddenly jolted backwards and with that the old crone screamed in fear and fury and fled a full, hasty retreat.

Jurlue then winked back into view, having proved his worth to the group once and for all.